


Reasons Not to Kiss Him

by ColorInPlatinum



Category: RWBY
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: it was love at first sight. for tyrian.





	Reasons Not to Kiss Him

**Author's Note:**

> though not inspired by the prompts, this particular fic is dedicated to and inspired by http://nutsandvoltsweek.tumblr.com to celebrate this amazing ship! feel free to submit your own works to the blog too!

Sex has always been just that: sex. It's hard, rough, fast fucking that leaves you sore but satisfied.  
  
Tyrian supposed they began this cycle of meaningless sex for their own benefits. He was admittedly young when he and the doctor first slept with each other, though nearing his twenties. He noticed Watts' stress and half jokingly offered him relief in the form of favors for favors. Watts accepted, and a quick blow beneath his desk turned into an hour long ordeal, papers strewn about, Tyrian's hair a mess, and Watts' mustache covered in various unmentionable things.  
  
They never spoke of it after that. Nor did they speak of it the time after that, or the time after that, or--  
  
They never spoke of it, but Tyrian wished they would.  
  
Watts was nearly ten years Tyrian's senior, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels for the doctor when he first arrived. He was barely thirteen, Watts nearing twenty three, and he tried so desperately to flirt and make his intentions clear. Watts ignored it and brushed it off as childish play, but the infatuation never failed. Now, nights when Tyrian would wake up screaming, Watts would come rushing in to calm him. Sometimes he'd insist on the doctor crawling in with him. Sometimes the fucking wasn't... fucking.  
  
It's not one of those nights, but it feels like it. They collapse onto Tyrian's mattress, breathless and flushed. After a moment to soak in the glow, they go through the motions. Watts straightens his hair and sets about piecing his suit back together, while Tyrian often moves from the bed to the bath. Tonight, however, the hunter simply sits up, tucks his hair behind his ear, and watches as Watts dresses himself again.  
  
"Hazel is making breakfast in the morning," Watts says. Mindless chatter; he knows Tyrian is watching. "I hope you'll join us on time for once."  
  
"I will." Tyrian assures him.  
  
Silence falls over the two, Watts clearly unnerved by the pair of glowing yellow eyes staring him down as he dresses himself once again. Finally, he straightens his tie and bids Tyrian farewell, but he barely moves two steps when he feels cold hands clamp around his sleeve.  
  
"Please don't leave..." Tyrian whispers.  
  
Surprisingly, this isn't the first time Tyrian has requested so, but this time feels... helpless. It sounds like the poor faunus is begging for Watts to remain. However, the doctor is understandably busy and prepares a reason to turn the hunter down. It's only then he notices Tyrian's head bowed, shoulders shaking, tail trembling; he's frightened, nervous.  
  
"Tyrian, I'm--" Watts sighs. "I'm very busy. I have piles of paperwork and--"  
  
"Y-yes, of course," Tyrian mutters, laughing nervously to himself. "I should have expected that, truly. I'm sorry to--to bother you."  
  
It seems to be the end of it, with Tyrian flopping over in the bed with his back to the door and Watts ready to leave and hide away in his office once more, but before his hand touches the doorknob, he feels something tug at his gut. Perhaps it's pity, but something tells him to turn around and join Tyrian again. He doesn't understand why on earth his morals decide to kick in at the most inconvenient of times.  
  
With a resigned sigh, Arthur removes his shoes again and seats himself on the edge of Tyrian's bed, hesitating briefly before climbing back into bed with his teammate, suit and all. Within seconds, Tyrian has wrapped himself around Watts, his tail curled about the doctor's waist. It's nothing new, but that tug of pity in his gut turns to--heaven forbid--butterflies. Arthur can't explain it, but this simple embrace feels far more intimate than the intercourse that just transpired.  
  
His mind wanders, however, to the extreme warmth of Tyrian's room. The faunus is coldblooded, therefore the heat is a necessity, but it feels so... nice. The doctor's eyes fall heavy, and eventually shut.  
  
They add a new step to their "stress relief" ritual: they share the bed, at least for a quick nap, immediately after. Though it's usually Tyrian's warm bed they curl up on, they've been known to doze away in the leather chair in Watts' office, the examination table, a cot in the training arena. They take a whole night if they can, but it's usually only an hour or two. It helps. The fucking seems less like fucking and more like sex, making love, less than mindless copulation to relieve pent-up stress and sexual frustration.  
  
Watts finds himself admittedly frightened.  
  
In all his years, he's never fallen in love, or even lusted after a person. Knowledge was his only pursuit, but that didn't stop him from wondering what it was like. It wasn't that he didn't want romance or sex, he just didn't have time for it. He was busy studying, learning, bettering himself.  
  
And then he met Tyrian.  
  
It was love at first sight. For _Tyrian_. For Watts, it was absolute annoyance at first sight. The child was clingy, full of pointless questions, too curious for his own good, and loved to be in the way. He'd tell Watts he was pretty, handsome, good looking. Watts always shrugged it off as a childish crush, an infatuation with a new and intriguing person. But it never left, only faded.  
  
Tyrian as a teenager had better priorities, namely Salem, and his obsession with Watts seemed to die down. Still, the doctor found the boy in his office when he wasn't needed, staring at him and making mindless chatter simply to hear Watts talk.   
  
There was that fateful evening when Tyrian entered his office covered in his own blood, half naked and with his hair torn from the ears. Salem had punished him, as she inevitably did with everyone, and Tyrian was dying in his arms. It took hours to put the boy under and stitch him up, and even longer to cure himself of the temporary poisoning from the toxic scent of Tyrian's venomous blood. Luckily, it's only lethal if injected or ingested, but that didn't stop Watts from vomiting a good few times before cleaning it all up.  
  
He watched Tyrian with rapt attention for weeks after. A doctor must do his job, and while it wasn't really affection, Watts felt himself viewing Tyrian in a different light. The boy was more vulnerable than Watts gave him credit for, and blindly loyal to a fault. Watts found himself worrying, constantly making sure Tyrian didn't pop his stitches or need new ones.  
  
And as Watts lies there, Tyrian curled about him, he wonders if that was some sort of sign.


End file.
